


dress me up (and watch me die)

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human or Inhuman, all men have their vices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dress me up (and watch me die)

**Author's Note:**

> In the last twenty-four hours Amy has convinced me to write three fics. She is magic. And slightly evil.
> 
> Title comes from the most Hive song to ever exist, "emperor's new clothes."

“I know you won’t believe this,” he says as he swirls whiskey in his tumbler, “but Ward had a soft spot for you.”

Jemma scoffs and rolls her eyes up at the Inhuman keeping her in her seat. He has the ability to manipulate his cellular density and, at the moment, is using it to nearly dislocate her shoulder. She tries to roll it, to earn herself a little breathing room - this may appear to be a friendly meeting over drinks (not that she’s been offered one) and the surroundings may drip with the decadence Malick is known for in public circles, but she’s well aware just beyond the door is nothing but miles of winding corridors filled with loyal Hydra agents.

The Inhuman neither agrees with her incredulous assessment of Malick’s statement nor loosens his hold. She sits more fully back in her seat, hoping to transfer some of the pressure to the chair.

“He was,” Malick insists. “Why else would he force poor Giyera to waste so much time torturing you when there was no need?”

 _Poor Giyera_ indeed. She still has nightmares about her bones pulling, pulling, _pulling_ until they’re nearly out of joint and her organs moving beneath her skin.

Malick smiles pleasantly and sets his drink aside. “He was a good man, one of our best. A little inclined towards emotional attachment, but we all have our vices.”

“Ward only cared about himself,” she bites out. “He cared about me only so far as I fit into his mental image of who he wanted to be, he cared that I saw him as a hero. When it became clear I no longer did, he _hurt me_ as punishment.” She lifts her chin. “Your master couldn’t have chosen better. A monster wearing a monster’s face.”

Malick chuckles. “And that’s why you’re here and not in there. Because for all he’s going to take this world, he’s also a little scattered. He’s been away so long, it’s easy for him to get wrapped up in the minutiae.”

Jemma shifts her feet, wishing she could do more. Her skin is already crawling just being here at all, but Malick’s implication - that she’ll soon be facing the thing that killed Will - has every one of her nerves on edge.

This time they were sensible enough to search her fully. Her sidearm is gone, as well as the shank she kept in her boot, leaving her with nothing but her bare hands and she has the idea they won’t be enough to exact her vengeance.

“I’d rather he not get distracted from the greater cause the way Ward did,” Malick says, leaning forward in his chair. “And I get the feeling your-” he gestures to all of her- “attitude might be distracting.”

“I’d hate to keep him from his plans for world domination,” she says dryly.

Malick grins, pleased as he was months ago when she tried to attack him. “I’m sure. Which is why I’d like you to take a deep breath, Miss Simmons. You know what is best-”

Her fingers dig into the carved wood of the chair arms until her nails hurt in their beds.

She’s not. She’s not she’s not she’s _not_. She _can’t_ have been brainwashed. She ran _every conceivable test_.

“-what is best is you comply.”

A deep breath fills Jemma’s lungs against her will. She has a brief flash of a moment similar to this - her held in a chair by metal clamps, a different head of Hydra speaking in measured tones while inside she screamed, a pain that refused to ebb, and the promise that it _would_ if only she would comply.

The breath slips out of her and her muscles relax, her fears and worries over the situation disappear - why would she be afraid? She’s inside Hydra, there’s nothing to fear here.

“Are you ready to comply?”

She feels new, like she’s just woken up from a long sleep, and meets the question with a smile. “I’m happy to comply.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She’s brought to a rather spare room. The only furniture is a wide bed, leaving the multitude of books that have been brought in to lay scattered across the floor. They bring her attention to the circle of discoloration so deep it seems to have burnt into the tile. She dodges carefully around it rather than walk through the way the Inhuman does and it brings her face to chest with-

“Oh.” It's _him_. She attempts to back away but his hand darts out to cup her elbow, holding her only a breath away. “Hello,” she says, having some difficulty containing the eagerness of her smile.

He tips his head and she has the idea he’s not so much staring _at_ her as _through_ her. His free hand comes up to hover by her temple and she feels …

She gasps, her eyes drifting shut at the cold slide of _something_ in the space between her brain and her skull. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it is a surprise.

“Interesting,” he says.

Her eyes snap open and her smile fades a bit. The voice is similar, but there’s something to the tone that is wholly different. He seems amused.

“I could sound like him,” he says. His register drops to a more familiar one. “If you want.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind. I was only surprised.”

“That makes two of us.” He’s back to staring through her. “What did Malick do?” He’s looking at her, but the question is pitched beyond her.

“He activated her,” the Inhuman says from where he stands beside the bank of TVs. “She must have been brainwashed before; he just brought it out.”

Ward’s mouth tips down in a frown. “Breathe deep,” he orders her, “and try not to scream. I want to see what was done to you.”

She smiles, eager to prove herself. “I’m happy to comply.”

His expression becomes much more Ward-like for a moment, wry and amused, but she has little time to appreciate it before the cold is back, this time wrapping around her entire brain.

The scene in Malick’s study rises up, centering on the moment of her activation. The cold follows her brief flash of memory, digging out the entirety of it and it becomes a struggle to follow his orders, to keep herself from screaming just like she did for hours and hours until her voice was nothing but a breath and her throat was so raw she couldn’t believe it didn’t bleed.

“Your loyalty,” Whitehall says in the hollow of her memory, “is to Hydra. So long as Hydra considers your abilities best suited to the pursuit of science, you may continue. Should Hydra decide otherwise, you will comply without hesitation.”

She tried to respond, to deny the order, but the only sound to escape her was a faint wheeze that knifed up her throat so painfully she regretted the attempt immediately.

“Your loyalty,” he repeated steadily, “is to Hydra.”

The cold slips out of her, leaving her lightheaded and boneless. Her nails are digging into solid arms and she blinks to find _he’s_ holding her up. He’s staring at her now and gently guides her to the bed so that she can sit.

He remains standing and she closes her eyes against the stark lights as he brushes her hair from her face. “Crude, but effective.”

Her skin buzzes the way it did after Malick activated her, but this is much less pleasant. She allows her head to tip after his hand in between passes through her hair, seeking out the contact.

His fingers move to her chin, lifting it to bring her focus back to him. “You’re loyal to Hydra - and me so long as I control it.” He sounds almost bitter.

She frowns. Much as she hates to disagree, she can’t allow such an erroneous statement to pass and shakes her head. “No. You _are_ Hydra. Its entire existence has been one long effort to bring you home, seat you on the throne of the world.” Something like a laugh bubbles up in her. “ _You’re_ why the symbol they paint everywhere is so obviously _not_ a hydra. You’re the skull at the center of everything.”

He still looks confused - or maybe that’s simply how he always looks, she’ll have to reacquaint herself with this body’s expressions now that it belongs to someone else.

“My loyalty is to _you_ ,” she says.

He smiles. “And if I told you that Malick has served his purpose and will soon be discarded, you wouldn’t mind?”

She shrugs and promptly winces - that shoulder is still aching. “If he’s no longer useful to you, I don’t see it matters.” If he were anyone else she might voice further concerns but Malick is … well, she won’t be sorry to see him go.

“And if I tell you that I plan on killing Fitz?”

That does give her pause. Fitz is one of the smartest men on the planet, surely he would be of use to the cause?

“He tried to kill me,” he reminds her and she looks away. She doesn’t like to think of what Fitz did to him on the planet. His fingers brush through her hair and she sighs, relieved at the reminder he’s alive and whole. “And I do hate him,” he adds in a tone she doesn’t understand at all.

She nods slowly. “All right then. Whatever you think is best.” She’ll miss Fitz, but it’s for the best.

He draws his knuckles down her cheek and she leans into it. “That is good to hear.”

 


End file.
